Hourglass
by SasukeBlade
Summary: The ticking clock sounds less like a soothing heartbeat and more like a countdown. Prompt: For all of his aggressive exterior, Daryan is actually broken inside. Daryan and Klavier.


For the kinkmeme prompt in Part 23:

_"Und der Haifisch der hat Tränen _  
_Und die laufen vom Gesicht_  
_Doch der Haifisch lebt im Wasser_  
_So die Tränen sieht man nicht"_

_Translation:_  
_And the shark, it has tears_  
_And they run down its face_  
_But the shark lives in the water_  
_So no one sees the tears_

_Behind that aggressive exterior, Daryan is actually broken (reason is up to you, anon). __Any situation, any pairing._

* * *

**Hourglass**

* * *

**8:00 a.m.**

The alarm clock blares. Klavier sits up with a start, then sinks back into the pillows slowly even as his hand shoots out and flicks the switch. The beeps cut off with a strangled buzz and he lets the outstretched hand fall back to cover his eyes.

It's today, and all too soon.

He contemplates rising now, taking a shower, going through his usual morning preparations. His mouth feels like he's been sucking on cotton balls all night. A date with a bottle of whiskey will do that to a man, he thinks, and presses down firmly on his eyes as if to halt the sights playing in his memory.

* * *

_They are younger, too young to drink but Kristoph is looking the other way for once, has been looking the other way since Daryan showed up with a bruise darkening around one eye and a split lip. Klavier wants to cry when he sees him standing in the doorway, shoulders slumped in a way he's seen too many times since they first became friends. These are not the results of blows from his police training._

_They take Kris's best whiskey and he may be looking the other way but Klavier knows he'll have to pay his brother back for that somehow. After the first shot Daryan hisses and slams his glass down, clutching his lip. "Idiot," Klavier tells him, "It's not supposed to go on your lips."_

_"Fuck off," Daryan says, then laughs. "Damn, that stung."_

_As always happens when they start drinking, they begin talking about the future: fame, fortune, far away places._

_"Someday, we're gonna make it big," Klavier tells Daryan. "And when we do, this'll never happen to you again."_

_"Never," Daryan agrees._

* * *

**9:00 a.m. **

His hair is dry and so is his face. Last night's bottle of whiskey sits on the counter. He doesn't look at it. He also tries to ignore the television playing softly in the background. It's a news program. He already knows who they're talking about. In about an hour, the newscaster says.

An image of Daryan flashes on the screen and Klavier can't help but look. They'd shaved his hair in prison. He looks strange, smaller without his gravity defiant hair, but the sneer across his face contains all of that natural, inborn defiance and more. It's a new photo, from earlier this morning, maybe. A bruise colors his cheekbone; Klavier closes his eyes in sympathy, or maybe anguish. They are not kind to cops in prison, he knows.

He looks at the clock. He could stop this. He's a prosecutor; his kind has used their sway with the judicial system for worse. With one phone call, he could put a halt to all of this. He has an impeccable record: he has called in no favors of this magnitude. It would be so easy.

He turns off the television.

* * *

_"I got a call from the Chief Justice today." It's Daryan. His voice-always tense, always just a bit strained-is cheerful, sounding strained only with the unbearable task of withholding a pleasant surprise._

_"It was a good call?" Klavier asks, wanting to ascertain his friend's mood before launching into any congratulations._

_"He said I did well on that last case," Daryan can't keep the boast from his voice, and Klavier doesn't mind at all. He tucks the phone into the crook of his shoulder and ear. "I might even be up for a promotion to full detective!"_

_"That's wonderful," Klavier enthuses. "That is really great news."_

_Daryan laughs. "He said he might even have some special assignments for me in the future. Whatever that means. Shit, I'm just glad to be recognized, you know?"_

_Remembering that only he and Kristoph had shown up as Daryan's 'family' for his academy graduation, Klavier nods awkwardly, and then realizes he's on the phone. "I know. You deserve this. You're going to rock those special assignments, whatever that means. Probably picking up his dry cleaning."_

* * *

**9:30 a.m.**

There's still time. They've probably stopped taking phone calls at this point, probably beginning whatever processes now, but he could still drive down to the prison. On the hog, he could flit through traffic and get there even sooner.

There's still time to stop this. They would listen to him. They might even release him on his word of new evidence or a new witness or even a new crime for which he has to be tried. Something. Anything.

He unplugs his alarm clock and turns off his phone, then puts it in a drawer. He doesn't bother to get a chair and remove the wall clock. Besides, its ticking is soothing, steadying somehow, like a heartbeat.

Tick tock, tick tock.

* * *

_The crowd roars before them, surging like the wave Daryan's beloved outfit might inhabit. The detective laughs, grabs the microphone and shouts, "Why are we all law enforcement officers?" The crowd shrieks. "Because we're committed to justice!" The first notes of 'Guilty Love' play and the crowd goes even wilder than before._

* * *

**9:40 a.m.**

The penalty for smuggling a cocoon out of Borginia is death.

In America, the penalty for murder, extortion, smuggling, and countless other charges is also death.

* * *

**9:50 a.m.**

The apartment is too small, too confined, despite being the penthouse, surrounded by a glorious view of the city on all sides.

Klavier can't breathe. The ticking of the clock is no longer soothing; it's oppressive. It's not a steady heartbeat reminding him of life. It's a countdown to the end of one.

He sinks onto the couch and cradles his head in his hands for a moment, then picks up his guitar for comfort more than anything. He quickly and compulsively tunes it, though he did it less than a day ago. His hands are shaking.

There's a song that's always reminded him of Daryan, and unbidden his fingers find the right chords as he tries to find the tune.

* * *

**10:00 a.m. **

"Und der Haifisch der hat Tränen _(And the shark, it has tears) _  
Und die laufen vom Gesicht _(And they run down its face) _  
Doch der Haifisch lebt im Wasser _(But the shark lives in the water) _  
So die Tränen sieht man nicht. _(So no one sees the tears.)_

Klavier looks at the clock and then sets down his guitar. He walks over into the kitchen and pours himself a shot of whiskey. For a long moment he looks at the glass, remembering.

"This'll never happen to you again," he says aloud, then drains the glass and slams it down on the counter.


End file.
